The Heat from Sunlit Windows

Women in the Sun by Padamvir Singh

We walked and tripped over the shadows of trees

and sunlight beams crossed our path as you and I

meandered our way to the convention room.

You are the one who says you feel

you have always been searching

even if only inside yourself

and you could not

for the life of you

point out a certain stance or

express a certain feeling

you felt you had.

Is this why we’re here, now,

so maybe you can find your Self,

and I can find Mine?

And now we are in this convention room

filled with the faces of women like you and me

and their desire is written upon their cheekbones

and is festering inside their mouths

and eating out their eyes

though they sometimes feel

guilt

and shame

at the acts of their hands

but that is all in their heads.

And you and I are walking

and tripping again

but this time

over varicose-veined legs

and arthritic knees

and slender calves

and shapely thighs

that sometimes unfold and curve with desire

and sometimes rock a tired child to sleep

and we hear pieces of chatter about

Tom and Paul and Mike and Al.

And the sunlight filters through the windows

and falls over the hundreds of chairs

and hundreds of faces

and we find our places

and we sit and watch

out of the corners of our eyes.

And I know you are wondering

as am I

how many of them

had touched themselves

that morning or the night before

and told themselves

I love you

and whether or not

they’d washed their hands

clean of those Selves

and whether or not

they’d teared up

with guilt

and shame

at their self-love

but refused to cry.